“I was scared.”
“And he?”
“He just said…”
She smiled weakly.
“‘Okay.’”
Of course he had.
BUT THAT WASN’T THE SECRET SHE WAS ASHAMED OF
Mom looked toward the floor.
“For six years, I misunderstood your friendship.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“Whenever you defended Ethan…”
“Changed plans because somebody excluded him…”
“Waited for him…”
“Helped him…”
Her mouth trembled.
“I wondered whether you were sacrificing too much.”
I went still.
“I kept thinking you felt responsible for him.”
“Because he has Down syndrome?”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
That hurt.
But she kept talking.
“I spent six years measuring what Ethan might need from you.”
Then she looked at me.
“I never stopped to measure everything he gives you.”
Suddenly—
six years replayed differently.
